My Lives As Fate's Chew Toy - Heroes Are Over-Rated
by DeiStarr
Summary: Our OC is reborn as Harry Potter, & proceeds to have A Very Bad Time. Deeply traumatized and fed up with everything; she repeatedly attempts to get the plot out of the way early, and is continually thwarted by a well-meaning-but-oblivious Albus Dumbledore. She is Not Impressed. At All. This life is going to require a LOT more alcohol. 3rd in FCT series; can be read stand-alone.
1. Welcome To The World: A Nasty Shock

**Summary:** You would think that being reborn with magic would be amazing.

Honestly? Magic is bullshit.

Even more bullshit than chakra; OC didn't actually think that was possible.

As if that isn't bad enough, OC is very badly traumatized, and was not expecting to be reborn again. On another note, she is deeply unimpressed by the seeming determination of the multiverse to give her a penis, and her early world-saving attempts are repeatedly accidentally thwarted by Dumbledore.

OC is Not Amused.

OC identifies as female, is physically male, and refers to certain body parts as:

_**"The Genitalia That Must Not Be Named"**_

She really is Just Done With Everything.

No main character pairing - OC makes a horrified vow of celibacy as a small child that later turns out to have been an accidental Vow.

* * *

**Chapter Summary: **OC finds herself reborn again, when she was expecting the Pure World.

She doesn't have time to completely grasp it before succumbing to oblivion; so it's definitely gonna come back to bite her later.

In the meanwhile, it makes her first few months rather rocky.

Eventually, however, she actually ends up enjoying the first year of her new life - all because of her amazing new parents.

But all good things must come to an end.

* * *

**Prologue - A Nasty Shock**

* * *

**Disclaimer:** _I don't own Harry Potter - the HP universe was created by JKR, and I can acknowledge that; even if I'm not always impressed by the way she treats it._

* * *

_A voice from time departed yet floats thy hills among,_  
_O Cambria! thus thy prophet bard, thy Taliesin sung:_  
_"The path of unborn ages is traced upon my soul,_  
_The clouds which mantle things unseen away before me roll, _  
_A light the depths revealing hath o'er my spirit pass'd,_  
_A rushing sound from days to be swells fitful in the blast,_  
_And tells me that for ever shall live the lofty tongue_  
_To which the harp of Mona's woods by freedom's hand was strung._

_"Green island of the mighty! I see thine ancient race_  
_Driven from their fathers' realm to make the rocks their dwelling-place!_  
_I see from Uthyr's kingdom the sceptre pass away,_  
_And many a line of bards and chiefs and princely men decay._  
_But long as Arvon's mountains shall lift their sovereign forms,_  
_And wear the crown to which is given dominion o'er the storms,_  
_So long, their empire sharing, shall live the lofty tongue_  
_To which the harp of Mona's woods by freedom's hand was strung!"_

_Taliesin's__ Prophecy_

* * *

My second rebirth was almost more traumatic than the first, simply because the first ensured that I was capable of recognizing what was going on.

The shock of a world without chakra, after being so attuned to it in my last life, was as jarring in its own way as the transition to a world with chakra had been originally. I felt its loss like a gaping wound in my soul; magic seemed such a poor substitute. Especially given that it took awhile for me to figure out what it was.

I went from being a Zen-like little vegetable in the womb, to experiencing the shock and trauma of childbirth combined with memories of reincarnation - always so fun - accompanied by a split-second of horrified, grief-stricken awareness and despair; followed by nothing. My conscious mind shut down along with my body, and by the time they stabilized me, my awareness was back in hibernation.

I imagine it must have been just as bad for my parents - Mamaí had just given birth when I let out a sharp, agonized cry and promptly started dying.

I can't imagine how traumatizing it must have been for them to go through that; to have the joy and excitement of their baby coming into the world turned so abruptly into terror, to have to sit and watch, helplessly, while the healer cast frantic spells to keep the child they hadn't even had a chance to hold alive.

I have a vague recollection of crying and overwhelming sadness; but I'm fairly sure that was actually me - even after I was out of danger, I was by no means an easy baby. While I no longer knew or understood why I was upset, my grief was still present. So I mourned, unaware that was what I was doing; only that I was desperately unhappy, and it seemed nothing could change that.

* * *

Of course, time is relative for a newborn. While my period of mourning lasted forever from my own perspective - no doubt my poor, exhausted new parents agreed with the sentiment - it tapered off after a couple of months.

My new Mamaí and Tadi - my Mummy and Dadi, or Daddy - along with my Padfoot were all bona-fide saints. At the time, I was much too young to really consider it; but looking back I'm pretty sure that they actually could have been canonized just for the way they put up with me.

I was just so determinedly, unrelentingly miserable. All I really did for those first months was cry, scream, and occasionally sleep. I even cried while I ate, fussed in my sleep, and never stayed down for long. Unlike other babies, I never stopped, and never offered them a moment's peace or a single sign of feeling anything other than misery. Nothing they tried worked at all.

While largely driven by my subconscious grief, there was also the fact that I kept on instinctively reaching for my chakra sense, panicking when there was nothing there. I eventually managed to reach for my magical core and began attempting to use my magic the way I had my chakra - but no matter how well-trained my magic started to act in the way that I wanted it to, it still wasn't right.

Of course, my frequent reaching for my magic meant that my poor parents also had to deal with my magic being powerful and hyper-sensitive to my emotions. It gave an added (and slightly perilous) dimension to parenting that they handled with just as much grace as they did everything else.

They were just so patient with me; no matter what I put them through, their love for me never faltered.

Oh, sure - they cried with me sometimes, or managed to get one of their friends to look after me so they could take a break and sleep for a while; they were human and it was very discouraging to have such a completely unhappy baby.

But they never took it out on me - they always, always, put my needs above their own. They were at a loss for how to help me - but that's just it.

They always wanted to help me.

No matter how miserable I made them by proxy, it was me they were concerned for; my pain was what distressed them the most. Their own tiredness, sadness, and worry mattered less to them than the desire to make me feel better.

As unhappy as my subconscious made me, this kind of unconditional parental devotion was utterly foreign.

It was also indescribably comforting; a balm to my wounded soul.

Their joy was incandescent the first time I settled, and stopped my endless crying. They heaped me with such praise and adoration; I had never experienced anything like it. I had been loved before, but James and Lily... they cherished me.

To this day, I honour them by calling them Mamaí, Tadi, and παπά. I've never given those titles to anyone else; even if I'm in a household where they might be expected, even before remembering fully, I have an instinctive aversion to doing so. They earned the right to hold their own titles without having to share them several times over. No other family I've had, no matter how loving, or wonderful, could ever replace them.

Other parents have since cherished me, but they were the first.

Mamaí, Tadi, and Papá were just so loving and encouraging; I quickly grew enchanted with them. My behaviour began to change more and more rapidly, until it was nearly the opposite of what it had been before.

I rewarded all their efforts with smiles and laughter, and an enthusiastic outpouring of infant affection. It was as if I were suddenly attempting to make up for the past few months by giving them everything they had been denied before - as much as I could, as fast as I could.

They rewarded each and every one of my efforts by treating it like a priceless gift. Rewarding me with such joy; such genuine pleasure and gratefulness I sometimes found myself crying even as I laughed. I was just so happy.

Those early days were blissful, and infinitely precious. Even the memories of those first months of torment are dear to me now, because they were there, and their love never faltered.

In the end, I may have only had them for 15 short months; but they were some of the most pivotal of my existence, and they impact me still.

* * *

We were all happy, that first year after my misery eased. Despite the stress, the demands, and fear of the war outside; we were happy.

Mamaí was utterly lovely - with her long, flame-red ringlets and green eyes that were so very lush and vibrant, she could be mistaken for one of the Fair Folk. Her beauty was almost otherworldly; so ethereal, and her magic so strong and wild. Tadi liked to tease her, tugging her curls and calling her a precious changeling, and teasingly name her either "Gwyllion" or "Ellyllion"; a water-sprite, or an elf.

Where Mamaí was half-Irish, Tadi was Cymric (Welsh), and while he'd been taught to speak like a very proper and posh English gentleman for interactions with the high society of British Pureblood Wixen, his voice had a rich Welsh lilt unless he made an effort to change it.

He liked to call Mamaí Lilïau, rather than simply Lily; though I later learned he only did that at our house, or among close friends. His private titles for her were "Lilïau wyr Y twylwyth teg" - sometimes swapping out "Gwyllion" or "Ellyllion" in the title for "twylwyth teg", or calling her "fy nhrysor tylwyth teg fy hun".

His eyes twinkled and his smile shone with affection, his adoration of her clear as he titled her "Lily of the Fair Folk", "of the Elves", or the Forests, Waters, or Shadows. His eyes turned darker, and his smile turned softer and more intimate as he called her his very own Faerie Treasure.

There were many more terms of endearment he used, but they were not so personal, and he would often use versions of them for me as well as for her.

He always managed to fluster her and make her blush, and it never seemed to lose its novelty. Her eyes would light up when he entered the room, just as his eyes did for her; while her cheeks would flush with pleasure whenever he said something particularly earnest and sweet.

The memories of how deeply, and how helplessly besotted Tadi and Mamaí were by each other, are ones I hold quite dear. They tell me that my beloved parents were happy together, no matter how briefly; and that I was born in that life out of a pure and abiding love.

* * *

English and Welsh were spoken almost interchangeably in our house, along with a fair amount of Irish from Mamaí.

When Sirius - my Padfoot; my παπά, my Papá - came to visit (which was a misleading term, since he actually lived with us, and just went out for extended periods due to the war effort), he would usually take me aside and talk to me in Latin, Ancient Greek, and French.

Mamaí approved; particularly of the Latin and the Greek, which would be useful for spells later on. She therefore tried to continue those with me on occasion as well.

Tadi promptly responded to my introduction to old languages by beginning to chat to me now and then in Brythoneg - also known as Common Brittonic - and Mamaí was happy to join him; even if she wasn't quite as fluent. He also murmured to me in hen Gymraeg; old dialects of Welsh - modern Cymraig.

He used those ancient tongues to teach me about our Family history, weaving tales of the Potter Family - y Crochenydd nhylwythau. We were Crochenwyr; and ours was a rich and colourful history. He told me about Y Crochenwaith; the ancient family homestead called The Pottery.

He also taught me hudau Y nhras - the family Magick.

Of course, he didn't expect me to learn or comprehend as much as I did as quickly as I came to - he was merely intending to lay a foundation, and starting young would aid my ability to develop fluency.

That was the goal they all held, actually; starting my language studies early to encourage fluency.

They only devoted as much time to it as they did for two reasons - first, that we were in hiding and it was a good, engaging way to pass the time.

Second, that I was quite obviously fascinated by our polyglot household. Each new language I was introduced to made my eyes widen, and I would listen for hours, completely enthralled. Even after I began speaking extra-ordinarily early, they still only assumed I was only really learning the three primary languages of our household.

While they enjoyed indulging me, often sharing snippets of family lore or educational discussion with one another as they practiced their own fluency, they only began to grasp how much I understood when I began attempting to respond to them in the same languages they spoke to me.

My attempts with the more unfamiliar tongues were clumsy and halting; a lisping baby tongue attempting to master a wide variety of languages at once. But they were somewhat understandable, or at least recognisable, and my three parents were all very suitably impressed and amazed at my apparently budding genius.

The memory seal from my last life gave me an eidetic memory in this one, and helped me retain some of my old processing speed and heightened cognitive development. I didn't remember this yet, however, and soaked in their multilingual praises and expanded lessons like a particularly satisfied and eager sponge.

It was around then that I figured out that Padfoot was not actually encouraging me to say a babified form of his nick-name; he was teaching me to call him Papá - technically, παπά; the Greek word for Daddy.

I was initially confused; when he recognised my confusion he laughed, tucking his face into my neck and nuzzling baby-soft skin as he crossed the room towards Mamaí and Tadi with quick strides. When he reached them he wasted no time in pulling each of them into a quick kiss, then smirked at my wide-eyed expression.

He bopped me on the nose and simply told me that I was lucky, because our Family was very special. I had a mother and two fathers; a Mamaí, a Tadi, and a Papá, and they all loved each other very much.

The other two laughed as well, and wrapped their arms around us both. They all reassured me they were happy, and I hadn't noticed only because Papá had been gone so much since I was born that he tried to spend all of his time at the house with me while I was awake.

They told me that Papá had performed a ritual with them before I was born to make me a Black as well as a Potter. I was equally the child of all three of my parents.

I was slightly curious, but mostly just happy - seeing the three of them so close together now allowed me to notice the signs I'd overlooked before. I could see that my Padfoot was not just family; a dear and precious friend with whom my parents shared an unusual closeness, but Family. He was my παπά; my beloved Papá, and he was just as much my parent as Mamaí and Tadi were.

I might not have seen it before, but the way he and my other parents looked at each other was very familiar to me, now that I knew to look for it.

My precious memories of the love shared between my parents expanded to include all three of them, and I found myself mesmerized by watching them interact with each other. They were all so different, yet they each seemed to fill a need the others had just by being there - their ways of showing their affection to each other were as different as their personalities; and even differed between Mamaí and Tadi, and Tadi and Papá, and Papá and Mamaí.

Yet somehow, each of them gave the others something they needed; something different and irreplaceable.

Tadi was much more mischievous and playful than Mamaí, also far less serious and studious and more prone to dramatics.

While Papá was no less mischievous and dramatic than Tadi was, and just as playful and disinclined to studying, his upbringing had also been very different; much stricter, less happy, and far more demanding - it left its mark, even if it wasn't immediately noticeable.

I didn't know that at the time - only that despite Papá often giving the impression of having such boundless energy and enthusiasm he seemed nearly uncontrollable; he was somehow also capable of sitting calmly and being quiet - much more so than Tadi was.

The two of them tended to aim their bouts of hyperactivity and silliness towards one another, sharing a love of pranks and jokes that would have driven Mamaí spare if she'd been dragged into it more than occasionally. This arrangement allowed her to play the role of amused spectator and only get involved if she wanted to.

Papá's occasional talent for stillness, however, allowed him to have long conversations with Mamaí on a variety of highly intellectual subjects which he had once been required to study in depth. Despite resenting it at the time, he was grateful for it now - it made Mamaí happy, and Papá loved making people happy.

If Papá started to become melancholy, Mamaí would pull out her subtle sarcasm and sly, biting wit to encourage him to respond. The two of them would end up laughing at each other through their mutual abuse of intellectual humour, and it never failed to pull Papá out of his funk.

Tadi loved making people happy, too; but he wasn't always able to help when Papá began brooding. Practical jokes and prank wars sometimes helped, but otherwise he would transform into a stag and go running with Padfoot. Sometimes they would simply curl up by the fire together, leaning on each other in wordless comfort.

Since his parents had been much less strict in their study requirements for him he had been allowed to place most of his focus only on topics that interested him. However, this limited his ability to offer Mamaí the stimulating conversations she sometimes craved.

He showed his love for her in other ways; doing things for her and saying particularly sweet things to her, and helping her gain fluency in the languages where his skill currently surpassed hers. He also made an effort to learn Irish; wanting her to have the comfort of speaking her Mathaír's native tongue in her home.

I quickly grew to understand that Tadi and Mamaí would never have been completely happy without Papá, and he would have been much less happy without them.

But they did have each other, and they were all very happy together.

I was perhaps the happiest of us all, having no idea as yet what the war they whispered about referred to, or of any of the horrors that were occurring outside the safety of our cottage. How could I, when I was still so young, and none of it had ever touched my world?

So I played and learned and grew; experimenting with my magic and watching my parents with a nearly-worshipful adoration and devotion. And, of course, enjoying their own adoration and devotion to me in turn.

In my world, all was well. Then the end of October arrived - and with it, the end of everything I held dear.

* * *

**A/N: **I'm going to post the prologues I've finished for the stories I've outlined and started for this series, after giving them all a quick tidy. They're a bit rough, and I only intend to update the stories in order, primarily focusing on the first story until it's finished; but each is meant to stand alone despite the continuity.

Reading them all concurrently shouldn't be _too_ spoilery - though it will be a bit, so decide to proceed at your own risk!

I'm posting them as-is because I've been in the hospital for the last two weeks, and will be going back tonight. I'm not sure what my updating will look like until I get back out, unfortunately.

I've already explained my lack of beta; please see the previous story's end notes for details. Also, see the first in the series "**Introduction" **for details on adding to the series yourself.

Wyrdfyre has very graciously helped me by beta-reading this chapter for me. :)


	2. In The End

**Chapter One - In The End**

* * *

**Disclaimer: **_I don't own Harry Potter_

* * *

_All I know_  
_Time is a valuable thing_  
_Watch it fly by as the pendulum swings_  
_Watch it count down to the end of the day_  
_The clock ticks life away_

_It's so unreal_  
_Didn't look out below_  
_Watch the time go right out the window_  
_Trying to hold on, but you didn't even know_  
_Wasted it all just to watch you go_  
_I kept everything inside_  
_And even though I tried, it all fell apart_  
_What it meant to me_  
_Will eventually be a memory of a time when_

_I tried so hard_  
_And got so far_  
_But in the end_  
_It doesn't even matter_  
_I had to fall_  
_To lose it all_  
_But in the end_  
_It doesn't even matter_

_In The End - Linkin Park_

* * *

I never really liked Uncle Peter.

At the time, I didn't even know why; all I knew was that from the first time I heard the name "Wormtail" I felt an instinctual, subconscious loathing. I had no conscious memory of the Harry Potter storyline at the time; but deep in my subconscious I was aware that he should not, _could not_ be trusted.

If I hadn't remembered the original story later on, I might have blamed myself for his betrayal – but I doubt the original Harry Potter would have had any reason to despise him as I did. It was a small, cold comfort to know that while my complete refusal to interact with him might have made serving me up to Voldemort on a silver platter less difficult for him, he still would have done it even if I had loved and accepted him the way my parents did.

From the first time the prospect of changing the Secret Keeper for the Fidelius Charm was discussed, I became distraught in a way that I hadn't been since the beginning of my new life.

It baffled my parents, since the reason they broached the topic was not that Papá doubted his ability to remain loyal to us, but that Mamaí and Tadi wanted to keep him close. While he would still keep up an external residence for appearance's sake – especially if he intended to play decoy for our new Secret Keeper – he could not truly live with us even part time while also filling that role.

They wanted to be together more often than the mere visits that they had so far; the separation was trying on all of us, and as long as he gave the appearance of living elsewhere, having a new Secret Keeper would mean that his absences would be far less frequent or drawn out.

To them, it must have seemed like my unhappiness started at the prospect of Papá living with us. They were all confused, and Papá was hurt. As a result, I tried to focus on the fact that I would have more time with him, but my misgivings refused to go away.

I was incredibly, deeply upset by the fact that my parents were considering trusting Peter to be their Secret Keeper – while I had no idea why, the fact was that the mere mention of it terrified me.

There are no words to explain how deeply I wish that my parents had put my reactions to him ahead of their trust in their friend. No words could ever encompass how completely I regret that they had no way of realising that there was more behind it than an irrational, childish dislike. After all; I adored my Uncle Remus on the few occasions where I had met him.

Why, why, _why_ couldn't they have just considered my reactions to people as a sign?

Why couldn't they just accept my opinion of their friends as another aspect of my unusual development?

_Why_, when it came to that _one thing_, did they assume I was simply prone to infantile dislike of someone for no reason?

Why did they regard my opinion of our Moony to be a sign that I was a poor judge of character, rather than the other way round?

I can admit that the fact that my dislike also extended to Albus Dumbledore probably had a lot to do with it.

I might not like it, but I can acknowledge that showing my uneasiness with him so obviously probably made them doubt my ability to determine trustworthiness.

I was simply too young and unaware to have understood or remembered that discretion is the better part of valour. And it would be years yet before I learned about Lords of Magic; there was simply no possibility whatsoever for me to know or understand that I was taking issue with the Chosen Lord of Light.

My unease with him was prompted by my subconscious opinions of a fictional character and a number of his portrayals in fanfiction.

Real people are far more complicated than that; their motivations come in so many different layers and shades of grey that it's patently ridiculous to attempt to categorise them as simply as "good" or "evil".

Regardless of the reasons, James, Lily, and Sirius Potter-Black trusted Peter Pettigrew to be their Secret Keeper. And, just like in canon, that trust was their downfall.

* * *

Due to the memory seal I had created, my earliest memories of infancy were clearer in all my subsequent reincarnations than the ones from the first.

However, much like my first introduction to Itachi in that life has always remained one of my most poignant and significant memories, there are certain memories in each of my lives that stand out; events which left a profound, indelible impact on my very being.

The night of October 31st, 1981 is one such memory.

By the time evening arrived, James and Lily were tired and rather frustrated. I had been difficult the entire day; from the moment I had heard mention of it being Halloween that morning, I had been inexplicably distraught. No matter how they tried to soothe or distract me, I was desperately clingy and inconsolable.

For all my advanced intelligence, retention, and comprehension; I was still only 15 months old. I could neither understand nor explain the overwhelming emotions that flooded me; but that did not stop me from experiencing them. All I knew was that I was deeply, horribly afraid.

This fear manifested in my manic determination to keep track of James and Lily at all times. Every time either of my two present parents left the room, I would scream and cry inconsolably until they returned. I panicked whenever I couldn't see or feel them nearby.

Clutching hysterically at whichever one of them had disappeared, however briefly, I sobbed and begged them not to leave me.

I sought constant reassurance that they would not abandon me; offering tearful promises of good behaviour, requests for kisses and cuddles, and giving them desperately repeated, multilingual declarations of love.

They were understandably alarmed by my sudden, uncharacteristic bout of insecurity; especially since they had no idea where it was coming from.

I wish that I could have made our last day together a happier one, but as a baby I had little control over my reaction to the terror I felt. Each time I lost sight of them, I was simply consumed by an unshakeable dread that I would never see them again.

So our last day together was a trying one for them; and while I regret it for the strain and stress it placed on them, I am grateful that at least I made my affection and devotion to them very clear.

While my somewhat frantic love confessions were largely motivated by my desire to remind them that I wanted and needed them and had no desire to be left alone, I am grateful that I at least had the opportunity to tell them how much I loved them. I take comfort in the knowledge that, when the end arrived, some of the last words I had spoken to them were to express how much they meant to me – at least, inasmuch as a baby could manage.

It was just after nightfall when everything came to a head.

The three of us were curled up on the sofa together; Tadi singing Welsh folk songs while Mamaí and I tried to sing along. I say tried, because some of the songs he was singing were new to us; but he was happy to teach us, and we joined in on the ones we knew with great enthusiasm.

We finished giggling together as we all sang _Sospan Fach (The Little Saucepan);_ a silly folk song Tadi had chosen to make me laugh. He had just started teaching us _Taleisin's Prophecy_ when the door was blasted in.

Tadi and Mamaí stared at each other for a brief second, faces drained of colour.

Then they _moved_.

Tadi leapt up, rushing towards the entrance, shouting, "Lily! Take Harry and go! It's him! I'll hold him off!"

Mamaí snatched me up, dashing through the house and running up the stairs.

Later, I would remember the ritual she and Papá had created, and the runes she'd painted on our whole family as we all performed it together.

In the aftermath, I would recall the way that they had prepared for the possibility that one or more often members of our family would be lost; crafting an ancient protection drawn from the willing sacrifice of each of my three parents to bind itself to me in the event of their deaths. A protection flowing through the very blood in my veins; powered by the lifeblood, love, and magic of each parent who gave their lives for my sake.

It had merely been a precautionary measure; a way to ensure that, if anything were to happen to one of them, their sacrifice would serve a greater purpose.

Though no one said so at the time, in retrospect the way they clung to Papá afterwards tells me that it was his death they were worried about. His death they feared and tried to prepare for; not Mamaí and Tadi, who they all thought would be safe behind the Fidelius.

After all; they trusted Peter, and it was Papá who seemed most at risk.

But understanding came later; when I had little to do but dwell on my memories and my losses.

At the time, I was frozen in horror; for all my previous fussing throughout the day, when the moment I subconsciously dreaded arrived, I didn't make a sound. I _couldn't_.

I stared blankly after Tadi as he disappeared through the doorway; going mute and unresponsive in shock. It was like a fog descended on me, and everything took on a dreamlike quality.

It was a nightmare – where everything was terrible, but none of it was real.

_It couldn't be_.

My mind refused to comprehend it.

For all that everything else around me took on an indistinct quality that night, my parents stood out in stark relief – a blatant contrast to the rest. The only part of that blurry, unfocused world that held sharpness and colour; they were like beacons to my sight.

In my last glimpse of Tadi, his face was firmly set. He gave us one last look, even as he left and called out instructions to Mamaí; conveying all the love and devotion that he could without words. There were traces of fear in his eyes as he glanced back at us, but as he faced the entrance it vanished under resolute, steely-eyed determination. His features were fierce and brave; unafraid as he raced towards death.

He _knew_ that this would be his end; so long as he bought time to protect his family he would count it as a victory.

I was unresisting as Mamaí carried me away and into the nursery. There was a distant, detached quality to my awareness; I had unconsciously dissociated. Only being seated in my crib broke through my stupor; I grasped ineffectually at her arms as Mamaí lowered me, letting out a soft whimper.

"Hush, baby; it's alright," she whispered, he voice choked with tears. "You'll be okay."

"No," I cried weakly. "No, Mamaí; no, please!" My fingers clenched convulsively at her, and I struggled to force my way through the molasses in my mind enough to communicate.

"_No leaving me!"_ I begged.

Her breath caught; I saw understanding and heartbreak dawning in her eyes as she realised that _this_ was what I had been so afraid of all day. Realising that I had somehow _known_; she offered me the only comfort she could, sorrow and regret thickening her voice.

"_Deonaigh Danu trócaire,"_ she breathed, almost too softly for me to hear. "I'm sorry, baby; Mamaí is so sorry."

Her eyes shone with the tears she refused to let fall, clinging like tiny diamonds to the edges of her lashes. They only increased her beauty – set against her vibrant green eyes and lashes that matched her rich hair of flaming silk; together with her porcelain skin and red lips, she shone bright and regal through her despair. In that moment, she appeared as a queen; bejeweled by her own beauty, and radiant as any deity.

"Mamaí loves you, sweetheart; Tadi loves you; remember we love you, baby!"

Her face, eyes, and voice were filled with such grief and love. She pressed a kiss to my forehead, then turned away.

I whined, staring after her as she stood and straightened, resolute and tall in front of me. Facing the doorway, she held her head high as she waited for death.

I do not know if it was prompted by her hushed prayer begging mercy from _Danu_, the Irish Mother of the Gods; but as I stared at her she seemed to transform before me – becoming the very personification of an ancient goddess. Beautiful and tragic, terrible and otherworldly; wreathed in glory as she defended her child.

Throughout every life I have lived since then, I have regarded that final sight of Lily Evans-Potter-Black as the epitome of any avatar of a Mother Goddess.

The door blew in, and I could only watch, utterly numb as Voldemort approached and Mamaí begged for my life. Silent tears rolled down my cheeks as I watched her refuse to step aside; as she offered her life for mine, and the monster cut her down in a flash of green. My eyes caught on the way her red curls billowed about her head as she fell; there was a macabre loveliness in the way she crumpled to the ground before me.

I stared at him as he turned his wand on me, not really registering anything other than my hyperawareness of the body on the floor. For all that he appeared to be a horrifying amalgamation of monster and man, I was beyond caring or reacting to anything then.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_ he hissed, and I stared down the sickly glow of the killing curse as it raced towards me.

I felt no fear; for nothing could be worse than what I had just witnessed. There could be no suffering greater than the wound struck through my very being as Mamaí fell.

Then my world turned green, and deep inside me, something _snapped_.

My head burst into agony; flooded with so many sounds and images in an instant that all I knew was _pain_. Pain like nothing I had ever dreamt or imagined – _no, you've felt this once before –_ so overwhelming it consumed my very existence.

I _screamed_.

Distantly, I heard another voice screaming with me, along with a terrible roar and the sound of an explosion. I was unaware of it at the time, as I lost consciousness and everything abruptly faded to black.

* * *

**A/N:** I had a near-death experience recently, thanks to randomly developing a severe allergy to my migraine medication and almost not making it until the ambulance could get to me after I went into anaphylactic shock. So I've been a bit... off balance since then.


	3. PrequelThe Black-Potter-Evans Triad

This isn't a chapter update; I had a miscarriage earlier this year and took an unannounced, unexpected hiatus from writing. But I've started again, so I should be updating this again in the next few weeks.

For now, I just wanted to let any followers know that there's a prequel going up about the Triad's relationship that I worked on while trying to get past the mental block I had about writing this series again.

It's called, "How To Build Your Triad".

* * *

**How To Build Your Triad**  
**(In Ten (Not-So) Easy Steps)**

**By **

**Lily Evans-Potter-Black & Sirius Potter-Black**

**_[{Shut up and look pretty, James.}]_**

* * *

Sirius tells baby Harry how his parents' got together as a bedtime story.

Lily helps.

_{James doesn't get to talk; the _**_dense_**_ one didn't do any of the work.}_

_[Silence in the peanut gallery, Moony.]_


	4. Hiatus Ending

Thank you all for commenting, favouriting, and following!

When I came back to this site again and started looking over them it was humbling and overwhelming for me to see how much love my fics have been getting in spite of my absence.

(Seriously; I almost _cried_. You guys are _amazing!_)

I'm sorry there haven't been any updates in so long; however I expect to have the next chapter of "The Spaces Between" finished and sent to my Beta before the end of the month. So it should go up sometime in early December; it all depends on what her schedule is like.

I'm really sorry this story has seemed abandoned for a while. I had a miscarriage and lost my will to write for a while. I didn't post anything about a hiatus; partly because it was very low on my list of priorities at the time, and partly because I didn't expect it to go on for so long.

While I've recently started writing again, it took a bit for me to get over my hangups about writing this series - since I started it about a month before I got pregnant and worked on it throughout my pregnancy; the two concepts just felt very linked to my mind. So I started writing again in a totally different fandom at first; and have now ventured into a few AUs/side stories for this series to ease myself back into it. I'm currently working on the next chapter of TSB right now, and not experiencing any issues, so I can finally say that I'm doing good again.

_That said;_ I _DO_ remember the plot and basic outline I had of each WIP. I remember all of the important details; if not the exact way I planned each scene/bit of dialogue to go. And I've discovered that while I've been dealing with RL problems; a lot of people have left comments complimenting my WIPs and asking me to continue them, or favouriting/following. I also know how disappointing it is when a writer discontinues a story you're enjoying and looking forward to reading more of.

_SO_ I _WILL DEFINITELY_ be continuing this story, along with all of my other WIPs.

I'm still very excited about each of the ideas behind my WIPs. However, even more than that, I really, _really hate_ leaving things unfinished.

(I'm also a bit of a praise-whore; and the more kudos and bookmarks and subscriptions and comments I get, the more motivated I am to write more, and write more often.)

Like I said; I intend to update this series again starting by the first week of December, after my newer WIPs are finished (Some short(3-4 chapters) MDZS/Untamed stories that got me back into writing again).

The update schedule for this series so far is this:

December -

The Spaces Between  
Heroes Are Over-Rated  
We Are Not Broken (TBS Side-story AU started back in April)  
How To Build Your Triad (HAOR Side-story/prequel)  
Don't Touch (E-rated WYMPFL Side-story AU)  
The Spaces Between

January -

Heroes Are Over-Rated  
The Spaces Between  
We Are Not Broken (TBS Side-story AU started back in April)  
How To Build Your Triad (HAOR Side-story/prequel)  
Don't Touch (E-rated WYMPFL Side-story AU)  
The Spaces Between  
Heroes Are Over-Rated

I'll be posting a more detailed and extensive update schedule (IE: how many future chapters to expect when) in the End Notes of the next chapter of each fic.


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